


The Golden Hour

by FairyLights101



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Burlesque, Depression, Drinking, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 14:09:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12728079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyLights101/pseuds/FairyLights101
Summary: The golden hour - the time at sunrise or sunset when the light turns gold, the perfect time for a photographer.Also The Golden Hour - a burlesque-themed club with drinks flowing, the snazzy swing of brass, and a dancer too beautiful to be believed.Issei certainly can't.





	The Golden Hour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NicheTales](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicheTales/gifts).



> This piece was commissioned by [Avery](http://foxyenaarts.tumblr.com/), who has commissioned me several times now and has been so blessedly patient with me through this piece! I can't thank him enough for the continued support, so I gave it my all when he said he wanted a burlesque AU!

Issei blinked up at the neon lights overhead. He could feel the muted thrum of the music mixing with the nip of the cold, sinking down into his bones and setting a beat alongside his heart, almost as intoxicating as the smell of liquor and perfume that came through the cracked door.

Just ahead of him, Tooru flashed the bouncer a million-dollar smile and a black card. The bouncer held it up to the light, squinting at it as soft orange lights played across his face and his white hair before he handed the card back, unhooked the rope, and waved the four of them inside. 

Issei couldn’t help but smile, just a fleeting thing, as he glanced to his friends. A night out was what they needed- what  _ he  _ needed, the memories of sunlight and days without tension headaches and any shred of fleeting energy too fuzzy in his mind. But he pushed those thoughts aside, let the darkness and thrum of the club swallow him up as they stepped inside. 

It was drenched in dim, sultry golden lights, just enough for them to walk to the counter, where a young woman in a scarlet dress with a plunging neckline led them through the crowd, over to a semi-circular booth at the back part of the building, row after row of tables in front of them that surrounded three stages. Menus were passed around, and Issei half-heartedly flicked through it, more tuned into the music, to the snazzy trumpets, the fluttering piano notes, the trombone that danced its way through the melody. And, after a moment, to the sound of applause and wolf whistles and a voice climbing over the crowd, announcing something. 

Issei glanced up, through the heads and the shifting bodies of servers and dancers who sauntered between tables, a sway to their hips, and up to the main stage. It was set into the wall, the sides framed and exquisitely detailed, painted a gold that caught the warm light and set it shining. The scarlet curtains beneath the arch shifted and Issei straightened up, eyes focused on the middle. 

A quick, soft beat of drums filled the club, rhythmic. His fingers tapped to the beat. He leaned a little closer, thumbed the edge of his menu as a piano joined in. And then the curtain parted. 

It was slow, almost agonizing with the way a long, slender leg slid out, just a tease of pale flesh, before it ducked back behind the curtain. But then, when the trumpet joined in, the rest of the body emerged, and Issei felt his jaw go loose, all the tension flying out. 

A beautiful young man slunk out, hands on his hips beneath a loose cloak-like gown that hung on his shoulders, a rippling sheen of translucent black and silver that sparkled in the spotlight. Black hair drooped down into his face while a great, glittering golden crown-like headdress sat snug in his hair, adorned with massive black and red feathers that swayed as he slung forward, black heels and fishnet-clad legs striking out across the floor. 

Issei couldn’t help but follow the line of his legs, from the muscles in his calves to the thick, taut thighs that gave way to lacy black underwear, a red bow sat at the waistband. There was some sort of half-skirt on his hips, silver and red, and it fluttered with his hips, revealing more of that pale skin, then hiding it once more as he twisted, ran long fingers down the sleek black corset that cradled his chest in a heart shape. 

Dark eyes prowled along the crowd as the man strutted forward, just a few steps, traced a path down his thighs before he rose back up, played with the lacing of his corset. It glittered underneath the lights, hypnotic. Enraptured, Issei watched as he swung his hips, teasing the edges of his black drape, swaying it around those long, netted legs. 

A quick step to the right. His fingers skittered up, curled over his chest, teasing at the red lace at the top before those hands snapped away once more, took that black and silver fabric back into his hands. The trumpets grew a little louder, and the dancer flicked his hands out, the fabric floating in the air behind him, silver threads catching the light. 

With that off, without the dark folds hiding his body, it put him on full display, strong hips and a slender waist with an intoxicating amount of skin showing, so delightfully contrasted. 

Issei’s fingers twitched. 

He wanted to pick it apart, wanted to be closer. Wanted, for the first time in months, to pick up his brushes and colors, to capture that one exotic moment, how the cloth shimmered as the dancer let it fall before he swished it in front of him, rolling his body from side to side to the beat, slow and sinuous, a feral smirk on his lips. He knew what he was doing, had control of everyone, everything, and Issei couldn’t care. He could only watch as the dancer swirled the black fabric around for a few moments more, glittering, ephemeral wings on his arms as he swayed his hips to the lull of trumpets before he unbuttoned it from his neck and cast it aside with a wink. 

Issei leaned forward a little more. 

There was a voice in his ear, but he paid it no mind, let the music and the ceaseless sway of those hips hold him. The way the man dragged his fingers along his neck, tracing the thin black ribbon looped there, just below his Adam’s apple. Further down, teasing lace and strings. One finger snapped the top of his fishnet and he spun, showing off a supple ass. The dancer turned, grinned at the crowd as he slowly leaned over, just a little as he brushed the skirt aside and gave his ass a light slap, enough to make the flesh jiggle. Lingered just long enough for the faint pink flush to appear before he turned once more, one hip cocked, a leg outstretched. He traced a path down his shimmering corset, drawing Issei’s eyes down to the half-skirt that sat snug on his waist. 

Pale fingers tangled into the scarlet fabric, bunched it up a little higher, flashing the upper sides of his thighs. A silver buckle flashed in the light as he swayed his hips, guided eyes over to the tiny piece of metal. Within a moment, that was gone too, and the dancer stood there, clad in crimson and sable, those cat-like eyes peering out into the audience. He raised his hand, carded it through the air above him as his head lolled back, the feathers teasing the air, his body slowly undulating to the music. 

Issei licked his lips. 

Clenched his hands. 

Every move was beyond elegant, something so natural, so smooth that he wasn’t sure it could possibly be captured in a single moment. Would it be enough to paint those hips in mid-swing, to have those hands starting to unbuckle the skirt so it could flutter away in a flash of scarlet and silver? Or to show that sultry smile, or perhaps the bigger, brighter one, a satisfied predator that knew he’d ensnared his prey? To have those hands above, lengthening his body to draw the eye to every little curve, to the supple thighs and flex of muscles, or on himself, accentuating a roll of his hip, tracing a path down to clench his thighs to tease at showing a hint more of skin. 

Issei’s fingers clenched on the tabletop. He  _ needed  _ his pencils, needed  _ something  _ to capture it, something more than his eyes, nowhere near enough. He needed hours to study those lithe movements, that extraordinary body before him, to pick it apart, piece by piece, and analyze every line, bask in the glory of every crease and fold and ridge of skin. 

But, instead, he watched, lips parted, eyes wide, as the dancer slowly traced a path down his corset and turned his back to the audience, hips working, arms moving in front of him. When he turned back, Issei wasn’t surprised to see the corset spread open in his hands, leaving him in only the underwear and gem-like nipple daisies that flashed like rubies beneath the lights. 

The dancer waved a hand at his side, showed off the newly revealed skin, the muscle and the curvature, the elegance in every move as he rocked his weight from one foot to the toe of another, rolling his hips as he went. The corset was dropped, and he trailed his fingers back down his chest. Trumpets trilled. The piano and drums filled Issei’s ears, drowning all else out as the dancer sank to the floor, side to the audience with his hands on his knees, ass poked out, lines of black interrupting white skin. 

His knees hit the floor and those arms rose, trailed over his headpiece, then back down to trace the front of his body. Over the gems on his chest, down the line of muscle where Issei could  _ just _ see him breathing, then back up to his hair. The dancer rocked up, thrusting his hips as his body moved in careful undulations, rising from his heels up into the air as he tugged at his hair, stretched his body out before he returned to his knees, only to rise up again. The dancer moved forward and down, quicker, and brushed the floor, head raised, fingers laced beneath his chin. 

There was a smile on his lips as his legs kicked up, heels brushing across his ass, the black tips just barely digging into the flesh there. He shifted, rose up so that one leg was beneath him, the other stretched out behind him. His back was arched, one hand teasing his mouth, the other resting on his thigh - and he didn’t move. 

Issei blinked. Cocked his head. Slowly, the sounds came back - not the music, having faded away, but the applause, the wolf whistles, the indistinct cries he couldn’t make out or pick apart. Not that he wanted to, too focused on the dancer as he slowly stood, blew a kiss to the audience, and strutted backstage, his clothes in his arms. 

He could only stare until a hand closed around his bicep, jerked him back- to reality? To  _ something _ at least. He turned, followed the path of the arm, up the plum-colored sleeves to a face - to a shit-eating grin as Takahiro leaned closer, one eyebrow raised. 

“Enjoy the show, huh?” 

Issei flushed, slapped his friend’s hand away. 

That only made his friends erupt into laughter, Tooru giggling and clutching at Hajime, who snorted and shook his head as Takahiro full on tossed his head back, cackling. They were relentless, drew some stares, but they quieted down eventually, and Takahiro pushed a glass over to Issei, the liquid a violent shade of cherry. “Here, we ordered for you since you were drooling over Handsome up there.”

“I wasn’t-” 

“You so were,” Tooru interrupted with a finger pointed to Issei’s face. Issei scowled and swiped his hand across his chin - no drool, but that only made Tooru break out into fresh giggles. Issei huffed and flipped his friend off.  _ I’m not sober enough for this.  _

But, for the first time in weeks, there was something more than the crippling apathy in his chest. A slight burn, a sense of excitement, dull, but still there. The itch in his fingers. A familiar taste on his tongue. He wanted to leave, wanted to drown himself in papers and the scent of paints and the taste of coffee until there were deep bruises beneath his eyes, until he woke on the floor with smudges of paints and inks on his hands, even his face. But, instead, he curled his hand around the glass, took a long sip. Enough to drain it in one go. 

Takahiro slid his drink over without a word, some flamingo pink monstrosity topped with a blue-crusted rim and almost half gone. 

But Issei took it with a thankful nod and sipped at it, licked the sour crystals off his lips. “Didn’t you guys watch?” 

Takahiro snatched his drink back, licked at the rim as he shrugged. “A little bit.” 

“Wasn’t much my type,” Tooru admitted, “But he was pretty damn hot.” 

“We were more interested in watching you watch  _ him _ ,” Hajime added on, “You looked like you’d never seen a guy before.” 

Takahiro grinned, elbowed Issei. “Yeah, your gay was showing  _ hella bad.  _ I thought we were gonna have to call an ambulance-” He cut off in a yelp when Issei pinched him, but that didn’t stop the evil grin from curling his lips. Especially not when he glanced to the others. “Should we tell him?” 

Tooru smirked. 

Hajime just snorted to himself and sipped at his amber-colored whiskey. 

Issei glanced between his friends, eyebrows drawn together. “Tell me what…?” 

Tooru shrugged, waving his hand, drink nearly sloshing out as he pointed to the far wall. “Tell you about that.” 

Issei’s eyes snapped over. Widened at the man emerging from the small curtained entrance where a bouncer stood, another tall, beefy guy. It was the dancer from just moments before, back in his black corset, though this time with a sheer red cloth draped around his shoulders and no headpiece, just a golden circlet glittering on his forehead. 

A young woman met him, another waitress if the dress was anything to go by, and she pressed a hand to his arm, guided him along. Through the maze of tables, around the patrons and other dancers on the floor. 

Right to their table. 

“Here you go, Kiyoshi.” 

The dancer dipped his head to the woman, then glanced across the table. Up close, Issei could see the perfect sweeps of eyeliner, the silvery glitter on his eyelids, the flush of exertion on his cheeks. But the smile was still there, sly and mischievous as he leaned forward, hip cocked to the side. “How can I help you gents tonight?” 

Takahiro leaned forward, pushed Issei towards the man - Kiyoshi. It had to be a stage name, not that he had much time to dwell on it, not with Takahiro speaking before Issei could choke out a protest. “Yeah, he’d  _ love  _ to get a private dance, wouldn’t you, Issei?” 

Issei wheezed as those eyes - dark, molten gold - flicked down to him. That smile stretched a bit wider, a canine flashing. Was that a gem set into his tooth? Issei couldn’t tell. Could only stare and blink at the hand extended to him. 

“C’mon, sweetheart. I’ll give you a fun time.” 

Issei swallowed hard. Glanced back to his friends, to those encouraging smiles, to Takahiro, who flicked his fingers and nodded. Issei took Kiyoshi’s hand. It was warm, softer than he’d expected, and Kiyoshi squeezed, a quick, gentle thing. 

Those molten eyes glittered as Kiyoshi leaned close, pressed his lips to Issei’s ear. “Let’s go then, yes?” 

He nodded, mute, and let himself be led over to a different curtained door, this one with the burly black-and-white haired bouncer who grinned at them both, let them through. It was darker inside, just enough light to illuminate the dusky walls, a burnt orange, and the glossy wood underfoot. There were doors spotted along the walls, other burly men in tight fitted black shirts, dancers too, covered in glitter and feathers and barely-there clothing, and always with another patron. But he could only stare at the nape of Kiyoshi’s neck, at the black hairs curled there as he was led nearly to the end before Kiyoshi opened a door on the right, pulled him through, shut the door. 

Inside, it was quiet. There was a plush black couch at the wall, a small table in front of it. Nearby, there was a stand that held a speaker system. It was small, but there was plenty of space in the center - good for a dance. Alone. Just for him. 

Issei stilled, eyes wide as he stared at Kiyoshi. Kiyoshi smiled, warm, encouraging, wide enough for Issei to see the chipped tooth, the dimples in his cheeks. “You want to get started?” 

Issei’s mouth opened. He couldn’t find words, his voice even. Nothing but an ache in his chest. He wasn’t prepared for this - just a few hours ago he’d been lying in his bed in clothes he hadn’t changed for three days, week-old beard growth on his cheeks. Hadn’t been close to people in days. Hadn’t felt that itch in his fingers, so thrilling and wonderful, in  _ months.  _ And now- Issei sucked down a breath. Bit his tongue, savage. Enough that he could taste blood. “I-I can’t,” he croaked. 

Black brows drew together and Kiyoshi leaned close, brought a whiff of cologne, subtle, earthy. “Are you okay?”

Issei pried his hand out of Kiyoshi’s grip, pressed it to his head as he shook it. “I just-” He needed a minute. Needed to breathe. Needed something other than  _ this.  _ He wasn’t nearly tipsy enough to figure out what to say, what to do, how to sort out  _ everything.  _ What he was feeling, what he wasn’t. And here, with this man in front of him- beautiful, exquisite, a masterpiece in the flesh. Issei sank to the ground, legs not quite cooperating. He just needed a minute, just a minute, just- 

There were hands on his face, fingers brushing across his cheeks. A soft voice in his ear, none of that sugary lilt or seductive lull to it. Just honest, raw. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. I promise, it’s okay.” 

He shook his head, a hiccup rocking them both, but Kiyoshi didn’t let go. Just kept thumbing Issei’s cheeks. Kept whispering into his ear. Didn’t stop until his breathing slowed once more, until the tremble in his hands faded, just enough to clasp at his jeans and hold tight. Cautious thumbs wiped at the tears on his cheeks. 

Fingers underneath his chin drew his eyes up to meet those bright eyes as Issei trembled beneath his hands. “Hey there,” Kiyoshi whispered. 

“Hey,” Issei croaked. 

“You alright?” 

He shrugged. It was too much to unpack, and Kiyoshi wasn’t getting paid to have people have anxiety attacks and cry on him. “Just dealing with a lot right now.” That was an understatement. No job, too many loans, not enough inspiration, and rejection letter after rejection letter. No reason to keep breathing.

Kiyoshi nodded slowly, and his thumb made another pass across Issei’s cheek. “I know what you mean. Here, let’s get off the floor, okay?” 

Issei could only nod. 

The dancer still smiled and clasped his arms with warm, strong hands and eased him to his feet, legs a little weak, uncertain. But he managed to stand, then to sit on the couch. Kiyoshi left him there, just for a moment, to disappear outside. He returned with two waters, the chill blissful on Issei’s heated skin. 

It didn’t help him relax though, and he sat there on the edge of the couch, hunched over with the water pressed to his neck, arms drawn into himself. Kiyoshi lounged into the black cushions, as though he hadn’t just had a client crying on the floor - as though Issei hadn’t done something totally embarrassing. 

Issei glanced to the side. 

Bit his cheek and edged a little further away. 

His fingers twitched, crinkling the plastic. “I’m sorry.” 

Kiyoshi raised an eyebrow. “For what?” 

“Just… everything.” 

Kiyoshi snorted, shook his head. “I’ve had worse. Trust me, I’ll take a client crying over some of the things that have happened.” It was impossible to miss the way his hands clenched, knuckles white, body a little tighter. But the tension melted away in an instant, as though he’d wiped it all away, and he smiled softly. “You’re okay. Just take your time.” 

Issei took a deep breath. Let his head drop as a bead of condensation slipped along his too-warm neck. “Thanks, Kiyoshi.” He turned his feet. Flexed his fingers between his knees, the new half-moons cut into his skin still an aggressive red, muddled by purple.  _ Need to cut my nails.  _ Needed to do a lot more than that, but- 

“My name’s Kuroo.” 

Issei’s eyes snapped over. The dancer stared at him, unblinking with those cat-like eyes, face unreadable. Just a cool, calm expression and a faint smile that could have meant anything. “I’m… what?” 

“Kiyoshi’s the stage name. My name’s Kuroo Tetsurou.” 

“Ah.” 

Kuroo raised an eyebrow, amused now. He leaned forward, chin in his hand, elbow on his knee. “And you? I like to know the names of the people who I spend time with.” 

Issei’s hands fluttered. He nearly dropped the water and he shoved it into his lap, held it there and glared at it, desperately tried to keep his eyes down. “Matsukawa Issei.” A moment too long of silence. He glanced over, found Kuroo staring at him with a soft smile, a little closer than before.

“That’s a nice name.” 

Heat filled Issei’s cheeks and he flicked Kuroo’s knee. “Bullshit, asshole. It’s just a name.” 

“Maybe, but the guy behind the name is pretty nice.” 

Issei scowled, but that couldn’t kill Kuroo’s smile. Issei turned fully, poked Kuroo higher up, between the diamond-shaped holes of his fishnets. “You don’t know that. You’re just making an assumption - you don’t even know me!” 

Kuroo cocked his head to the side. “And you don’t know me. But would you say I’m a good person?” 

His mouth dropped open. Issei threw his head back with a growl. “That’s different - you let me cry on you!” 

“And I’m an exotic dancer who could seduce and rob you in five minutes.” 

Issei raised an eyebrow. “Really?” he drawled, “You would’ve already done it if you’d wanted to.” 

Kuroo flashed him a sheepish grin, rolled those muscled shoulders in a fluid shrug. “I suppose you’ve got me there. But I think you are a good person. I can see the audience, you know? I could see you staring - but you didn’t look like those creeps. You don’t make it this long and not learn how to pick them out.” 

Issei’s jaw went slack, but he just managed to keep his mouth shut. Hiding the flush that he could feel warming his neck, cheek, and ears was another matter. He jerked to the side, turned his head away from Kuroo. Fumbled for words that weren’t enough of an explanation, weren’t remotely good enough. “I… shut up, dickhole.” 

“Oh, that’s a new one. I mean, you’re not wrong, but-” Kuroo broke off into laughter at Issei’s wheeze, a booming thing that filled the room, that melted into Issei’s chest like warm honey, or maybe hot coffee. He couldn’t help but shiver, certainly couldn’t help how he stared. Kuroo laughed with his whole body, head thrown back, throat working and eyes scrunched shut. His hands rose to his chest, half curled, and his feet tapped at the ground, delighted. 

Another thing that made his fingers itch. Stronger than before. 

This Kuroo was different than the Kiyoshi of the stage - open, honest. No hiding behind those pornographic smiles or existing only to strip. It was so much more. Issei’s hands clenched. 

“You’re a masterpiece,” he whispered. He couldn’t quite control the words, let them spill out and didn’t try to snatch them back. Just watched as that donkey’s bray of a laugh died away, leaving them in a deafening silence. 

Kuroo stared at him, those sharp eyes on him, a thousand shades melded together - old gold, butterscotch, amber, a deep bark brown. All cumulating in an intense stare fixed solely on him. Kuroo’s lips twitched. Issei’s hands spasmed, fisted as his chest tightened, a familiar chill in his gut.  _ Stupid.  _ He’d said something stupid, something that Kuroo probably thought was creepy, something- 

“What do you mean?” Curious. Quiet. Not harsh or bitten out. Kuroo had leaned in, hands stretched between their bodies, almost, but not quite touching Issei’s thigh. Kuroo’s fingers twitched, brushed across his jeans. Issei kept his eyes on those hands, but he didn’t push them away. Let them stay as he glanced back up to Kuroo. To the smattering of faint freckles on the bridge of his nose. To the thin scar that divided his left eyebrow. To the multi-colored eyes that left him dizzy. 

“Matsukawa?” 

“My friends call me Mattsun,” he mumbled, automatic. 

Kuroo smiled, canines flashing. “Mattsun. Tell me what you mean?” 

He cleared his throat, uncomfortably thick. Maybe it was those hands that had fully settled on his thighs, huge and hot, the warmth bleeding through his jeans and settling into his skin, suddenly so cold in comparison. Or perhaps that smile and that gaze, solely for him and no one else. The quiet of the room, how close they were, the scent of his perfume. Whatever it was, it made it harder to speak, to drag out a coherent thought as he let himself edge forward, just a little. His hand rose, unbidden, but he didn’t dare stop it. Just let his fingers brush across Kuroo’s sharp jaw, from ear to chin and back again, tickling the soft, pale skin before he moved up, brushed across those defined cheekbones. 

“You make me want to paint,” Issei breathed. “But I know they won’t be enough. They won’t do you justice. I could spend a year on your eyes and not get them right. And the movement - I don’t think I could show it properly. The ease, the passion, the-” He bit his tongue, choked on his words.  _ Too much, that’s too much-  _ Kuroo didn’t need to hear about it, didn’t need his weird painter talk. 

He leaned away, but one of Kuroo’s hands shot up, caught his and pinned it to Kuroo’s cheek. 

“Wait,” Kuroo whispered, eyes wider, the smile gone. In its place was a face of wonder, intrigue, with his lips parted just enough to show his teeth, his eyebrows raised, arching up and wrinkling his forehead. “Tell me more?” 

“I-” 

Where to begin? How to unpack it all?  _ Why  _ would Kuroo want him to do that? He couldn’t understand. Wasn’t sure if he wanted to. Just wanted to keep that warm hand overtop his, those eyes on him. Wanted to stay close to this wonder of a man, to feel the twitch of his fingers, the flutter of his breath. “You’re just… perfect.” Issei’s hand twitched, and Kuroo let it go, let Issei traverse his face. Over the scar. Across the freckles. Another scar, this one deeper, on his cheek. Over his lips. 

“I haven’t felt inspired for so long,” he whispered, “But watching you dance…” 

Kuroo smiled around Issei’s finger. “Wanna watch some more?” 

It was a miracle he managed a nod, but he did. 

Kuroo’s lips stretched wider, rasping against Issei’s finger. “Well then, let me do that. Maybe you’ll get even more inspiration.” It was quick, but Issei didn’t miss the way Kuroo’s lips puckered, the fleeting kiss pressed to his finger before Kuroo was on his feet. 

The walk across the room was nearly a dance itself, and Kuroo tapped the speaker system, brought it flaring to life with glows of cerulean and a soft chirp. He tapped at it for a few seconds before he hummed, seemingly satisfied, and slunk to the center of the room. 

With his red drape on his shoulders, those smoldering saffron eyes on him, and a smirk curling his lips, Kuroo looked positively bewitching. And, before the first snazzy flare of trumpets, Issei was already hooked in, unable to look away from those slender legs and the curves of his body, framed by the fingers on his hips, the artful way he’d curled that drape around himself. 

Kuroo winked.

Issei felt his mouth go dry. 

The music came to life. In here, there was no murmur of voices, there were no bright lights or heads in the way, no distance to blur one feature into another. Here, not even a meter away from Kuroo, he could see it all. The ripples of muscle as he swayed his hips, gyrating them in tight little circles as he arched his chest back, tickling at sharp collarbones with scarlet lace. 

He teased the very air around himself, at points caressing it as though someone stood before him before he brought it snapping back in, flipped it out and tightened it as he spread his legs, just a little, accentuating every line of his body. 

He spun, the fabric flying out, and Kuroo’s ass was there, head tipped back over his shoulder to smirk at Issei as he trailed his fingers and wine-red fabric along his ass, across the unblemished flesh to the line where his thong sat snugly. His fingers slunk further down, toyed with the edges of his fishnets as he bent over, stuck his ass out a little more, before he straightened up and turned. 

There were no rods in this drape to grab, so Kuroo held it by the corners, raised it over his head and spun, a quick twirl that made the fabric flutter over his head, the gold and glitter on him catching the lights, resplendent. 

He was  _ ethereal,  _ unreal in the way he twisted and flexed and used his body like a weapon, one of raw beauty that Issei wanted to grasp, to bring to life on paper, no matter how static. There was something in the way Kuroo raised one leg to trace the inside of the other, in how he dragged his hands along his chest and turned this way and that, showing off every millimeter of his body without shame. The smile on his lips was so big, so  _ bright  _ as he let the red drape flutter to the floor, as he stepped up onto the table, high heels clicking on the wood. 

Issei dropped his head back, stared up in wonder, in pure  _ rapture.  _ Kuroo stood there, haloed in light, that predatory smirk back on his lips as he wiggled his way down into a squat, then to his knees. He spread his legs apart - wide enough to straddle a lap was a passing thought in Issei’s mind - and ghosted his fingers across his chest. 

“Issei,” Kuroo purred over the serenade of trumpets as he leaned forward, planted one hand onto the table. So close that Issei could touch him if he stretched. Kiss him, if he dared. Kuroo’s fingers skimmed along his mouth, down his neck, dropped to play along his thighs, teasing the indented flesh. “Do you like?” 

Issei nodded, speechless. What could he say? There was no way he could explain it - not enough words in his vocabulary, and he didn’t exactly have any art supplies nearby. But he didn’t need it. Just needed Kuroo’s hand to curl in his shirt collar to give him  _ something.  _ Issei leaned forward automatically, eyes fluttering shut to the tune of brass instruments in his ears, to the steady sound of Kuroo’s breaths as they whispered across his lips. 

They kissed between breaths, quick, just a shy brush before Issei jerked back, Kuroo’s fingers parting from his shirt, breathing far too heavily for such a thing. His heart was hammering, hand over his mouth and flushed cheeks, and he stared at Kuroo, nearly shaking himself to bits - right until he saw the sweet smile that lay there, the delight instead of disgust. 

Kuroo shifted, almost too quick for Issei’s brain to comprehend - or perhaps he was just that slow, so out of touch, so ensnared by those glittering eyes that he couldn’t catch it. He just knew that, in one smooth movement, Kuroo had slid from the table to the couch, legs spread wide over Issei’s lap, hands on Issei’s chest. 

Kuroo was warm, a solid but not too heavy weight on his legs, arched back enough to give them space between each other. But those hands on his chest, so  _ hot,  _ crossed that - didn’t cage Issei in, but instead seemed to pour that heat into him when he was already too hot, his tongue tied and a knot in his chest. Kuroo smiled. Dipped in until they were so close that Kuroo’s breath fanned across his face, until Issei could feel himself stretching up against the fingers that kept him pinned against the couch. Kuroo chuckled, a muted sound that made Issei tremble, hands fluttering at his sides. 

“Normally,” Kuroo hummed, “I abide by the no-touch rule. But, for you… I’d  _ love _ to make an exception.” 

His lips were even softer, warmer, and Issei trembled, hands frozen on his thighs, eyes glued on Kuroo’s, blurs of gold too close, too bright. He shut his eyes, fingers digging into his thighs. A puff of breath, a laugh, rushed across his face. The hands on his chest tightened, fingers curling into his shirt, nails scraping skin through the fabric. Higher. One on his neck as lips slowly moved against his, just gentle, careful movements. Cautious, but bold. Bolder still, when Kuroo’s thumb pressed to Issei’s pulse point. 

Issei shied away - like that, Kuroo could feel how fast his heart was fluttering, how it was moving so unsteadily, confusion and fear and excitement snapping it into a faster pace. 

Kuroo faltered. 

There was space between skin, too-cold air rushing into place. No touch, no warmth, no  _ life.  _

A choked noise burst out, and Issei’s hands shot up. He reached out, blind, found warm, bare skin. An elbow, a neck, shoulder blades, vertebrae. “K-Kuroo-” 

Issei barely had to press his fingers, barely had to urge him in. That cry seemed to draw Kuroo in, their mouths crushed back together, hot hands framing his face, fingers curled into his hair. Kuroo’s mouth opened, tongue licked a strip across Issei’s mouth. Issei whimpered, and he let Kuroo press into his mouth, let that tongue slide in, curl along his. Those thighs clenched on his. Chests pressed together. He found fabric and clung to it, tugging and clutching as Kuroo pressed him back further, moved in deeper. 

Issei’s head hit the back of the couch. Teeth nipped at his lip, coaxed a whimper out. Issei’s eyes clenched tighter, and he let his mouth fall slack. Let that tongue slide along his teeth, trace along every little feature, twine with his tongue. Let Kuroo’s hands fist into his hair, let him roll their bodies together, a languid thing, waves lapping at the short. 

The scent of cologne and sweat, of soap and fabric cleaner. 

Colors in his mind - golden warmth that bloomed ethereal spider lilies, fragile tendrils twisting in the air. Velvet violet roses, petals unfurling, wine to mulberry, mulberry to mauve, mauve to lavender. Scarlet poppies, swaying into existence, bringing the scent of flowers, spring,  _ life.  _

Issei shivered as his fingers found the top of Kuroo’s corset, tugged a little. Kuroo drew back, warm breath washing across Issei’s face, far enough that Issei could stare. Everything was hazy, covered in dandelion fuzz made from the faint flicks of a brush. His fingers fluttered. Kuroo smiled, eyes soft. “You like that?” 

Issei’s hands tightened, jerked Kuroo in. No sounds, no words, just a hungry rush as Issei pressed their mouths together, his open, seeking. His heart twisted, left him gasping, drinking in the scents Kuroo was wrapped in. So good, so warm, so  _ much.  _

Life in every touch, in the fingers that dragged through his hair and tugged on the tight curls, in the breath that ran across his face, ragged, in the tongue that slid against his, slick, quick. Lips smacked, spit and heat everywhere and- further down, Kuroo’s mouth no longer on his, but on his jaw, kissing a path up to his ear, then back to his chin. 

“You’re handsome, y’know,” Kuroo breathed. 

Issei’s chest hitched and he jerked his head away, clenched his eyes shut. But that couldn’t block out Kuroo’s throaty chuckle, or the rasp of fingers on his arms. One drew up, pulled the collar of Issei’s shirt down, to the side - exposed skin to the cool air. To the heated lips that pressed to the junction of his shoulder and throat, a feathery kiss. One filled with promises and more, paired with a languid roll of his hips. 

Issei flinched, slight. 

Kuroo stilled against him, no longer moving, hardly even breathing. “Hey, Mattsun… you okay?” 

Issei nodded, slow. Pressed his fingers to Kuroo’s chest and pushed back until he could peek shyly at the dancer. He was beautiful, so much more than that single, too-short word with too little meaning. 

What could appropriately describe or capture the careless sweep of bangs across Kuroo’s eye, such a dark black it looked blue in the light? Or how the sweeps of eyeliner made his eyes even more cat-like, how the glitter on his cheeks and eyelids made him shine, not quite human. 

But Kuroo- he was a dancer. And Issei wasn’t even close to being worth his time. They didn’t know each other. And all that he was doing, all the dancing and kissing and careful touches and soft words, that was no more than a courtesy, something he was paid to do. 

“I… don’t want you to have to do this. I know you’re getting paid to do it.” 

Kuroo leaned back further, steady in Issei’s lap. “Getting paid? For what?” 

Issei gestured, ambiguous. They stared at each other for a long moment before Kuroo snorted, shook his head, fingers pressed to his forehead. “I get paid to dance. I don’t get paid to kiss pretty men.” 

Issei’s mouth worked, words not coming, brain not functioning. Especially not when those fingers brushed across his cheek, warm and gentle and soft. Smelled like lotion, though he couldn’t put his finger on it, just sweet. 

“Your friends asked me to dance for you. I danced. But I  _ wanted  _ to kiss you. I  _ want _ to touch you. My body’s my own, and I decide what the fuck I do with it.” Kuroo let his head tip to the side as a smile teased his lips. “But we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” 

Issei licked his lips. Glanced away, fleeting, before he looked back, unable to keep his eyes away. Kuroo still smiled. Issei returned it with a hesitant one. He reached up, brushed his fingers across Kuroo’s wrists. Pulled those hands down, away from his face, and held them at his stomach. Watched something too quick, too vague to decipher flash through those golden eyes. 

“I like you,” Issei said softly, “You’re… astounding. I want to study you, want to paint you, want to-” Kiss him, touch him,  _ fuck  _ him. Feel that heated skin slide against his, take breaths filled with the scent of that musky cologne, tangle his fingers in Kuroo’s hair and memorize the texture, the feel. Wanted to  _ know _ him. “I don’t want  _ this _ -” He gestured to the room, to the speakers playing music quietly in the background, to the tiny couch, to the skimpy clothes Kuroo wore “-to be everything. I…” 

He couldn’t fill his silence, words trapped somewhere from the route of mind to lips. His hands were cold, clammy. He wanted to let go, but when he tried, Kuroo snatched his hands up, tangled their fingers together. 

Kuroo’s smile spread wider still. 

“We can. Make this a thing, I mean. It doesn’t have to just stay here.” 

Issei smiled shyly. Nodded. 

Kuroo grinned. “Perfect,” he purred into Issei’s ear with one last kiss on his temple.

Kuroo of the club looked far different than the Kuroo of the real world. All that resplendence was long gone. Glitter lingered on his face and in his hair, and small but heavy lines beneath his eyes. His hair looked even crazier, sticking up in the back like a rooster, and there were no crowns or ribbons holding his hair in place. No skimpy dance outfits either - just a snug scarlet sweater and slim but baggy black jeans. 

And, perhaps best of all, he looked so much different sipping on a cup of coffee, eyes lazily blinking as he lounged on Issei’s couch, smiling to himself. 

Issei bit his tongue and dipped his brush into the water, swirling it for a moment as he scanned his palette, then Kuroo. Kuroo’s face had bloomed to life on the canvas, his hair in a general shape, diluted shades of red spilling in the white behind him, still undefined. Those golden eyes were still flat, not enough detail in them, but he had a vague lay of Kuroo’s neck and shoulders, of the fingers pressed over his breastbone. Not a direct copy of what was before him, but he didn’t need that. Just needed to capture Kuroo, to have his paints seep into the canvas fabric, to take on a sliver of the exquisite life before him. 

Not that it could even begin to compare. 

Issei smiled faintly. 

Dipped his brush into the yellow, water spilling into it. Dip, swirl. Dip, swirl. Dip, tap, brush. 

He dabbed the color into Kuroo’s eyes, lids hanging a little low, a lazy look that was echoed all throughout his face, from the tiny curve of his lips to the lack of creases on his forehead to the casual slump of his shoulders. But there was power and grace in that languid air he had to himself, a predator waiting. 

Flat gold discs for eyes, yet they burned with potential for life, for power. 

Another pass of his brush through paints, and he added a weak tinge of brown to the gold. 

Higher, darker. 

The shadow of his lids. The darkness of his pupil. The darker ring of brown-black that ringed his irises before they gave way to the whites. A little more yellow, darker. A sliver of white. 

Down after that, moved to the lips. A soft coral pink across his lips - Kuroo liked to worry his bottom lip, worrying it until it swelled and darkened, flushed to a rose-red color. But Issei liked it, would watch when Kuroo did it as he read, as he focused. Issei laughed to himself. Glanced past his canvas to his subject. 

Kuroo’s eyes were on him, amused, soft - so much that it nearly stole Issei’s breath away as he ducked back behind his painting, cheeks burning. “Hey, Issei,” Kuroo drawled, “Wanna hear a joke?” 

“If this is another chemistry joke,  _ no.”  _

“Nitrogen-Oxygen? Quite the fascinating response! I was actually gonna ask you about the chemist who walked into the bar.” 

Issei groaned and snatched up his eraser, hurled it around his easel. 

Kuroo barked out a laugh as he batted it away, the eraser skittering off somewhere, no doubt lost for the time being. “So rude! What am I, a chunk of plutonium?” 

“No,” Issei huffed, “You’re-” 

_ You’re the man I really like too much.  _

Far too much for having only known him for two weeks, for only interacting with him to sit inside Issei’s apartment to paint Kuroo. He was on his third. Still couldn’t get those eyes right, even though he’d drawn them countless times in his sketchbook, painted them from memory when Kuroo had left. 

Those fingers though, or the subtle curvature of his body - those were easier to capture. But those eyes were something else. Something that he wanted to study up close again. Just like he wanted to kiss Kuroo again. 

Issei swallowed. Put down his brush. 

“Nevermind,” he whispered as he stared at his canvas. At the Kuroo that stared back, serene, half-formed as though he was coming out of a mist that smudged all his features, made them indistinct and flat, from his spiky hair down to his elbows, the lowest point of the painting. 

The recent paintings were better than the paintings and works he’d done three weeks prior, before that dancer had spun his way into Issei’s life - and, perhaps because of that, they were so much worse. There was something missing, something more he needed. And, even with the urge to create, there was still that heaviness in his heart, the exhaustion that left him waning and waning, not enough energy to keep going. And yet there the painting was, a testament to -  _ something.  _

Issei smiled weakly. Let his head drop forward as he shook it, took a long, slow breath. “Let’s take a break.” 

Fabric rustled. He glanced up, watched as Kuroo stood up and slowly stretched, bones cracking as he yawned. Issei couldn’t help but stare as Kuroo’s shirt raised, pale skin and sharp hip bones flashing. A good sight until he realized those bright golden eyes were on him, glittering with laughter that didn’t escape Kuroo. 

Issei flushed, ducked his head to the side. “I’m gonna… pack up my paints,” he mumbled and hastily stood, so abrupt his chair nearly toppled. But it didn’t, and he stayed upright, packed his paint away and set his water cup aside. Looked at his hands, smudged with colors. Roughened from years of paint thinner and scrubbing and holding brushes. Hands that had done bad things, that had wrecked his canvases and his skin countless times over the years. 

It hadn’t stopped, but it hadn’t gotten worse. 

But they were still bad hands, ones not capable of kind touches, the way Kuroo’s were. Not able to show a tenderness he couldn’t quite decipher, couldn’t pick apart if it was friendly or spoke of something more, of potential for things he almost didn’t dare to think about. 

And yet, despite everything, despite his anxiety and fears, despite the unlikelihood of it all, Kuroo was in  _ his  _ apartment lounging in casual clothes, drinking  _ his _ coffee, eating  _ his  _ food, spending time with  _ him.  _

It was baffling.

Kuroo had nothing to gain from it, no reason to be there, and yet- Issei swallowed hard. Dropped his brushes into the water.  _ I’ll clean them later. We shouldn’t be gone long.  _

Because they just needed to get lunch. Only that. Nothing more, even though he so desperately wanted it. Wanted to study those hands and the way they felt, not just the way they looked. Issei glanced back to his hands. Curled his fingers, rough, bitten nails pressing into the meat of his palms. 

Feet appeared below, bare, slender. Hands covered his, unmarked, softened by the lotion he’d put on earlier. Kuroo had painted them the night before, a matte black with glossy red flowers on them, just the outlines, the ring finger in reverse. 

Issei’s head jerked up. 

Kuroo smiled, eyes scrunched up, head tipped to the side. A sunshine smile, none of the glitz and glam to hide the true warmth that waited beneath, so different in the muted lights of his apartment, the sunset glow on his skin. “Let’s make it a date, how about that?” 

Issei almost couldn’t breathe, but he managed a grin as he slowly slid their fingers together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading, leave a comment if you enjoyed, and check out my [tumblr](http://fairylights101writes.tumblr.com/commissions) to find out how you can support me!


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